Unnamed Feelings
by Electric Light Shadow Boxer
Summary: The Ninth in the Unnamed series. Alcoholism isn’t really about the alcohol. It’s about the feelings underneath. The con to take down Blackpoole has gone horribly wrong and our boys are in a holding pattern.


TITLE: Unnamed Feelings

AUTHOR: Electric Light Shadowboxer

RATING: PG13 for some bad language.

CATEGORY: Slash

PAIRING: Nate/Eliot

DISCLAIMER: I do not own, nor am I associated with Leverage. No copyright infringement intended. This little piece of insanity was written for fun, not profit. I make no money. Literally.

SUMMARY: The Ninth in the Unnamed series. Alcoholism isn't really about the alcohol. It's about the feelings underneath. The con to take down Blackpoole has gone horribly wrong and our boys are in a holding pattern.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Takes place after The First David Job and bridges the gap to The Second David Job. Contains spoilers. Note that this series follows the order of episodes on the season 1 DVD's instead of actual broadcast order.

AUTHOR'S NOTE2: Well, school is trying to swallow me down dry. I probably won't have the next piece up by next Friday. Maybe, we'll see how my muse and my time management skills get along. Believe me; it's just as frustrating for me as it is for those of you following this little 'verse. Here's to hoping the gods of academia feel benevolent and I'm not kept from writing too long.

Eliot kicked the door closed behind him and let his bag fall on the floor by his feet. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. It was dark and quiet inside the apartment, a balm to his jet lagged body. A 10 hour flight had been complicated by a four hour hold up in Dallas. He'd just gotten back from the De Aar region of South Africa and he just wanted a beer and a hot shower. He'd been there for two weeks, working a job and trying to get a little distance on the situation that seemed to be eating up his life.

Ever since the job with Blackpoole had gone south, things had been harder on both him and Nathan. They'd been forced to leave their old lives behind. Their offices were destroyed, the team had scattered to the winds, and home was now a small apartment on the opposite side of LA. Eliot had tried to convince Nathan that they needed to leave town, but he wouldn't hear anything of it. He said that was what Sterling would be expecting, and it would be smarter to stick close.

That had been two months ago. Of course, it had become quickly evident that it was much more than that. Nathan obviously had ulterior motives for sticking close, but whenever he'd ask, Nathan would just shut down. It had him nervous as hell. Nathan hiding shit was never a good sign. It meant that trouble was brewing.

Nathan's research on IYS, Blackpoole, and the museum gallery was quickly taking over their apartment. Maps, newspaper clippings, background information, even tax records; they were scattered all over the apartment. When Nathan had put up schematics of the museum all over their living room walls Eliot had put his foot down, ripping the papers down and taking beige paint chips from the walls. That kind of obsession was not healthy. In fact, it was starting to border on scary, in a psycho stalker from the movies kind of way. The whole damn mess was tearing holes Eliot's stomach.

Nate was becoming more and more distant, driven to distraction by the fact that Blackpoole had gotten one up on him. He'd become rude and angry, showing a disturbing amount of apathy at times. And as much as he hated to go off and leave Nathan when he was obviously having such a hard time, he'd had to get out of there. The desperation and despair coming off of Nathan was cloying, sucking him dry. They'd tried to make it better, and in the end they'd just made things worse. Nathan was still spiraling down, perhaps even faster than before. Eliot had just needed a break. So he'd made an arrangement with Paul.

He hadn't trusted that Nathan would be agreeable to company, so before he'd left, he'd given Paul a key with the understanding that he would come and check on Nathan. Paul was to make sure that he was okay and do whatever he needed to do to keep Nathan from tumbling over that cliff he was speeding toward. He'd spoken to the priest a couple of times, checking up on Nathan, and he hadn't liked what he'd been hearing. When Paul had told him that Nathan had withdrawn further and wasn't taking care of himself he'd known he had to do something. He needed to see for himself how bad Nathan had gotten. So he'd cut his trip short and come home.

He pushed himself off the door and opened his eyes. It was so dark in the apartment. He blinked in the gloom and walked further into their current residence. The blinds at the windows had been closed and the lights were off. He stopped to let his eyes fully adjust to the darkness before he moved any further into the living room. He frowned as he noticed the schematics were back up on the walls. Of course Nate would put them back up while he was gone.

One of the soft armchairs had been pulled over to the window, its back facing the rest of the living room. Eliot could see Nathan's bare foot sticking out to the left around the side of the chair. He licked his lips and started forward. His heart was beating hard with the utter wrongness that permeated the scene. Not only was it a weird place to be sitting with the blinds closed, but there was an utter stillness to the room that didn't feel right. Places that were occupied by the living had some feeling of life in them. But not the living room, it felt dead.

Had Paul been right after all? Eliot was torn between running forward and yanking the chair around, and stopping where he stood. As long as he didn't look he wouldn't have to see anything terrible. As long as he stayed where he was he could pretend that everything was okay, that Nate was just resting.

He licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Nate?" Eliot couldn't look around the room to check for danger as he approached the chair. Even his well honed instincts had deserted him. His whole focus was the back of that damn chair. That fucking damn chair, he hated that puce, piece of shit, chair.

As he stepped around the high back of the oversized armchair, his boot kicked something. He winced at the clack of glass on the parquet floor and watched as the empty Jameson bottle rolled into the corner. Depression and alcohol, it could be a deadly mix. Alcohol lowered inhibitions and people were more likely to attempt suicide if they had been drinking. His eyes stayed on the bottle, terrified to look up at the man sitting in the chair. Oh god, he couldn't hear him breathing. Why couldn't he hear him breathing? Finally he made his eyes move up Nathan's outstretched, black clad leg, all the way up to Nathan's face.

He was sitting there, pale but whole. But it was what he held in his lap that made Eliot frown, anger and panic clenching his guts. The matte black grip was lying innocently in his palm. Nate's fingers were curling loosely around the grip. Index finger opportunely tucked into the finger guard, around the trigger.

Eliot jerked his eyes up to look Nathan over again, looking for blood or tissue damage, but there was none. Eliot pulled the gun from Nathan's hand, careful to make sure that the trigger was not pressed with enough pressure to make the weapon fire. He reached out and felt for a pulse. He felt it flutter under his finger as he rested it against Nathan's neck, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He was drunk, perhaps even unconscious. But he hadn't shot himself. He was breathing, he was okay. Eliot breathed a little easier now that he had the gun in his possession. With a grimace he released the clip and ejected the bullet lying in wait in the barrel.

He watched as the bullet hit the floor and rolled underneath the chair, felt his gut clench. He'd been so fucking close he'd had one in the chamber! Eliot heard the small growl trickle between his lips as he stuffed the gun down the waist of his jeans, the clip he stuffed in his pocket. He pushed the hair back from his face, fingers tangling in the long strands, tugging in frustration.

The gun was new. Neither he nor Nathan kept a gun. Eliot had had too much of guns in the service. He knew that Nate carried one early in his career, but that he'd gotten rid of it after he'd shot someone with it. So Nate had gone out and bought a gun for this precise purpose. Oh God, he was fucking serious. Eliot sat down in the floor and put his face in his hands. If Nate hadn't passed out, if he hadn't arrived home when he had . . . Eliot felt his stomach clench painfully and the contents jerk up his esophagus.

Eliot jumped up from where he'd slumped on the floor and rushed to the bathroom. He heaved, body wracked by nerves and anger. He finished losing the airplane food he'd consumed earlier and lay his head on the rim, trying to take deep breaths to calm the nausea rolling in his belly. Once he was certain that nothing else was going to come up he stood and rinsed out his mouth. Eliot stared at his reflection in the mirror and tried hard not to imagine Nate with his head blown open. As the image flashed in his mind he gagged and threw himself back down on his knees.

When he was finally able to leave the bathroom his stomach was aching with the force of his vomiting. He went into the bedroom and pulled out his security box. He opened it and put the gun and clip in it before locking the box back up and pocketing the key. He'd get rid of later. Just then, he didn't want to leave Nate alone.

* * *

Eliot tipped the delivery guy and closed the door to the apartment. He carried the pizza box to the coffee table, eyed Nathan where he was still sprawled in the chair, snoring softly, and took a swig of his beer. There had been very little food in the house and no sign of take out. Either Nate had been eating out, or he'd been living on a liquid diet. From the looks of him Eliot was guessing the latter.

He opened the box and stared down at the sausage and ham embedded in cheese. If he thought Nate would eat it he'd wake him up. But he knew Nathan's stomach wasn't able to handle the tomatoes or the grease. No, Nate's diet these days consisted of mainly bland foods that were easy to digest. Sometimes even rice was too much for him to handle. He was going to have to have the place on the corner deliver some groceries. He'd need to make some soup for Nathan.

He took a bite out of the pizza and thought about what he was going to do. It looked like the alcohol was no longer the biggest problem. If they didn't resolve this situation soon, Nathan was going to self-destruct before the alcohol got the chance to finish him off. Well, he'd come too far, gone through too much, to let that happen. Eliot decided he was going to take out Blackpoole himself. He didn't need the rest of the team to take down the smug bastard. And if that didn't help Nate . . . well, he'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

He became aware of the change in Nathan's breathing, signaling that he was finally waking up. Eliot checked the time and shook his head. It had been five hours since Eliot had gotten home. Who knew how long he'd been passed out before that? Eliot sat where he was, munching on his pizza and sipping his beer. He had no idea what kind of mood Nathan was going to be in, or if he'd even remember having the gun before he passed out. He was tempted to rush him, to hold him tight and knock the shit out of him alternately, but it was best to sit back and wait him out.

There was a thump behind him and Eliot heard Nate curse. He turned so he could look over the back of the sofa and watched as Nathan rubbed at his bare toes. Apparently he'd found one of the furniture corners with his unprotected foot. He suppressed the urge to ask if he was okay and took another bite of his pizza.

Nathan finally stopped rubbing at his sore foot and glanced up. He stepped forward and then stopped, surprise stealing over his face. "You're home."

Eliot arched an eyebrow, trying to determine what that statement was supposed to mean. "Let me guess, you didn't think I would come back."

Nathan shook his head and took another step forward. "You weren't supposed to be back for a couple more weeks." He stopped, face paling more. He frowned and looked back where he'd been sitting. He turned and took a couple steps back toward the chair and looked underneath it. When he turned back around he was rubbing at his brow and looking nervous. "What are you doing back so early?"

Eliot watched as Nathan looked around, trying to find the missing weapon. He worked to unclench his teeth. "Something came up."

Nathan glanced at him quickly before looking away and heading over to his desk. He pulled open a drawer and rifled through some papers before he closed it again and moved to another one. He stood and rubbed at his neck, looking around the room.

Eliot put the rest of his slice back down in the box and stood, coming around the couch to rest on the arm. "You're not going to find it, Nate."

When Nathan shook his head Eliot stepped forward, watching as Nate took a step back. He swallowed and took a deep breath, willing himself to be patient. It wasn't something that came to him naturally. "I got rid of the gun."

Nathan turned toward him, eyes flashing. "You had no right!" He dropped his gaze to the ground; stomach lurching, alcohol and fear making his heart pound inside his chest. Right now he resented Eliot more than he ever thought possible. That gun represented hope. It represented the only chance he had to make all of this go away. Now Eliot had taken that option from him.

Eliot felt his nostrils flare. "Oh, I had no right? Think again, Nate! I have every right to see to it that you're safe!"

Nathan bit down viciously on his lip before finally shaking his head and walking into the kitchen. What was he supposed to say? It wasn't like Eliot was going to give him his gun back.

Eliot watched as he came back out with a new bottle of Jameson in his hand. When he'd first found that gun he'd been scared, but now his fear had faded away, leaving behind a smoldering rage. How dare Nathan do this to him? He knew it was irrational, knew that people were driven to suicide by extreme emotion, and that it really wasn't Nathan's fault. If an animal was trapped it would chew off its own leg to escape. Suicide was just another way of chewing off your leg. It was instinct. It was a way to end profound suffering. But he couldn't help his purely visceral reaction to the thought of losing Nate.

They each stood with the silence, heavy and oppressive, weighing them down. Nathan finally shook his head and walked past Eliot into the bedroom. He was angry, disappointed, ashamed, and even relieved. He just wanted to be alone for a little while.

Eliot followed behind, trying to keep from dragging Nathan down and beating the shit out of him. "We're going to talk about this."

Nathan turned and flopped down on the bed, taking a long pull from the bottle. "We've been over this. There's nothing left to talk about." He threw his arm over his eyes. "Just . . . just leave me alone, Eliot."

"Oh, there's plenty to talk about!" Eliot grabbed the bottle from Nathan, ignoring his protest. He took it into the bathroom and poured it down the sink. He made sure that when he threw the bottle in the trash it thunked on the bottom loud enough for Nathan to hear. When he came back out Nathan was sitting up on the bed, face dark, lips thinned into straight line, and eyes flashing electric blue.

Nathan got off the bed and started to the door, but Eliot was faster. He jumped in front of him and slammed it shut, standing in front of the only escape. "Uh uh. Sit your ass back down." He stared hard at Nathan, anger shaping his face into hard lines as the other man stood in front of him. "Sit!" He pointed at the bed and glared, standing his ground as Nathan stepped into his personal space, bearing down on him. "You really going to push me on this, Bubba?"

Nathan glared down at the younger man; half wishing they would just have it out right here. The fight would make him feel better. Even getting the shit beat out of him would make him feel better. It certainly couldn't make him feel worse. "Are you going to make me, Eliot?"

"If I have to." Eliot kept his gaze locked on Nathan's face. When it became apparent that Nathan wasn't going to back down, Eliot grabbed Nathan's upper arm and hauled him over to the bed. He forcibly sat him down and towered over him, daring him to get back up. He watched as Nathan continued to glare at him, but the other man didn't move from where he'd been put.

Eliot stepped back and paced in front of the other man, trying to think of some way to get through to him. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a hair elastic, pulling his hair back out of his face. When he was done he rubbed at his bottom lip and took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what Shannon's suicide did to me, Nate?"

"Listen, Eliot . . ."

"No you listen." Eliot pushed Nathan back down as he tried to get off the bed. "I wasn't there to stop her, Nate. That's my fault. If I hadn't left her . . ." He cleared his throat and paused, trying to settle his stomach back down. He turned and met Nathan's eyes. "Her death killed the last good thing in me. I started taking more serious jobs, more dangerous jobs, it changed me, Nate. No, I wasn't totally clean before her death, but it's what made me the man you know."

He stopped and bit his lip. "I'm not saying that it's her fault for the way I am. I'm not. I made my own choices. But when she died . . . Nate, I can't even begin to describe to you how that affected me."

Nathan swallowed. It was the most he'd ever heard Eliot talk about his past. Perhaps if he could Eliot focused on his past, on his sister, he would forget about the rest. "Look, Eliot, what happened with your sister . . . you know, that wasn't your fault. Believe me. She was in pain and she couldn't get it to stop. It wasn't about you."

Eliot didn't bother to contradict him. He wasn't about to get further into that subject. One, he knew that Nate was trying to redirect him and two; there were some things that Nate just didn't need to know. He knelt down in front of Nathan and took his hands. "Nate, my point is that if I lost you . . . it would finish me. You, the team, it's given me back something I'd lost. You've given me back a piece of my humanity. Please don't take that away from me."

Nathan was quiet, trying to decide how to respond. He needed a fucking drink to deal with this. He didn't do touchy feely and his emotions were uncomfortably close to the surface. "Eliot . . ." He took a deep breath and ran one of his hands through his hair. It didn't matter. He'd spin it, tell a half truth. Hopefully it would work to get Eliot off of his back. "I wasn't going to kill myself, okay?"

Eliot felt his brows pull low over his eyes. He searched his lover's face, trying to discern if he was lying. "Don't con me, Nate. I found you passed out in the chair with a gun in your hand! I mean, you've told me you wished you were dead. It's pretty fucking clear what was going on."

Nathan stood and stepped around Eliot, trying to get some distance from the other man, trying to keep Eliot from getting a good look into his eyes. They felt so desolate, barren of anything remotely like hope. He was so damn hollow he didn't even feel human anymore. He paced to the chest of drawers and braced his hands on the corners, watching through the mirror as Eliot sat on the bed. "We need to drop this, Eliot. Just know that it wasn't like that. Let's move on."

"No." Eliot watched as Nathan's shoulders slumped and he hung his head. He didn't believe him, not entirely. "What did you get a gun for if not to use it on yourself?"

"I really don't want to talk about this."

"Well, tough." Eliot stood and approached Nate's back, gripping his shoulder hard, trying to anchor him. "Listen, Nate, I know this is hard. I know that right now you just feel like you have no hope. I know it feels like all this pain and guilt that's eating you up inside feels like it will never go away." He squeezed Nathan's shoulder to the point he knew it had to hurt, but the other man didn't respond.

Eliot cleared his throat and placed his forehead on Nathan's back, just below his neck. "You want to know why I came back early? I came back because I got a call from Paul telling me that you weren't doing so well. He's afraid of what you might do and thought I should know. So I rush home and find you passed out in a dark apartment with that gun. Help me understand, because I'm about ready to take you to the emergency room and let them know you're a risk to yourself." Eliot stepped back and tried to catch Nathan's gaze in the mirror.

Nathan turned, shaking his head, adrenalin and fear streaking a path through his stomach. He couldn't do that, wouldn't do that. "Eliot . . ."

"Don't Eliot me, Nate. I will do whatever I need to in order to keep you safe. If I don't think I can keep you safe here then I will make sure you're somewhere that you are. Do you understand? I don't want to have to, but I will. Now tell me what you were doing with that gun and don't give me any of your bullshit, Nate. I can smell it a mile away."

Nathan stared down at Eliot, resignation making his eyes dim. He pushed past Eliot and walked into the bathroom to splash water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror, hating what he saw. The guilt, the shame, the pure hatred he felt for himself leached across his skin. Okay, so he'd stick with half truths, give Eliot enough that he would be satisfied, but keep enough back to keep him from panicking.

When he came back out Eliot was standing by the window, looking out at the lights. It was a convenient position. It allowed him to keep an eye on Nathan in the bathroom, but he was back far enough to give Nate a sense of privacy. Nathan felt his stomach clench in dread again. He bit his lower lip and ran his hand through his hair. "I wasn't going to use the gun on myself, Eliot. I was going to use it on Blackpoole."

Eliot looked down at his socked feet, trying to reign in the overwhelming emotion that boiled within. He was horrified. He had been ready to hear how Nathan had been planning to blow his head off. But this, this wasn't Nathan. This terrified him. When he turned around he tried to keep his face passive, but had the feeling it didn't work. "So you're homicidal instead of suicidal. How is that any better, Nathan?"

Nathan rubbed at his brow, not meeting Eliot's gaze. Somehow he hadn't expected Eliot to look so stunned, so hurt. He'd thought that that would be the easiest thing to hear. After all, Eliot hurt people for a living. It wasn't a new concept to him.

Eliot left the window and grabbed Nathan's shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle and tissue hard enough to bruise. "What were you thinking, Nate! What did you plan to do after that? Did you think that you'd get away with murdering him? Don't you think that you'd be one of the first people they'd look at?" He let go and rubbed a hand over his face before turning around and walking back to the window, shaking his head and feeling queasy.

Nathan sat down on the bed. His head was pounding and he could feel the tension inside him increase. He'd been thinking that it wouldn't matter because promptly after he'd put a bullet in Blackpoole's head he'd finish himself off. But he wasn't about to say that. Eliot was close enough to having him committed as it was. "I was thinking how good it felt to hold that gun on Blackpoole at the gala. I was thinking that if I had just pulled the damn trigger that night then none of this would've happened. He'd be dead and you guys wouldn't be in jeopardy."

Eliot turned, arms crossed over his chest, and studied his lover. His stomach turned over as he thought of the night of the gala. God, Nate had scared him that night. When he'd asked Nate how he'd planned to get into the gala Nathan had been unconcerned. "_Don't worry about it, Eliot. I'll get in_." Then he'd shown up drunk, not playing drunk, and not buzzed, but drunk to the point that he wasn't in control. And then he'd pulled the security detail's gun on Blackpoole. Eliot had been ready to drop the con right there. He'd been ready to blow all their cover just to keep Nate from making the biggest mistake of his life.

"Nate . . ." Eliot trailed off, at a loss for what to say. Sophie was to blame for this fucking mess. It was a good thing she was in parts unknown because Eliot didn't think he'd be able to stand to look at her right now. He sure as hell didn't feel like forgiving her. What he wanted to do was wring her neck. She'd put her own desires above helping Nathan when he was in such obvious pain. She'd fucking conned them all when he'd come to ask her for help! Yeah, it was a good thing that Sophie was not close by because he wouldn't be able to control himself right now. When he looked at how much further Nathan had broken because of this failed attempt to get at Blackpoole, he honestly thought he could kill her.

But Nathan loved Sophie. Not in the way she wanted him to, but he cared for her nonetheless. Ranting to Nathan about how she was to blame, not him, wouldn't do anything to help this situation. If anything it might just serve to push him down into that dark pit he'd found himself in.

Nathan looked at Eliot, an ugly smile quirking his lips. "I know what you're thinking. You can say it. It's not anything I haven't already thought."

Eliot sighed and sat down on the bed next to Nathan. He snaked an arm around Nate's waist and pulled him close, trying to comfort him and insulate him from the pain he was feeling. "Killing Blackpoole, that's not you, Nate. You're an honest man. That hasn't changed."

Nathan let out a huff of bitter laughter. "Oh, I know. Why do you think I was sitting there in the chair drunk? I couldn't bring myself to do it." He broke off and looked away. And he couldn't bring himself to end his own life without taking out Blackpoole first. It had been a harsh truth, something he was still feeling the sting of.

Eliot could feel Nathan tense up against his shoulder. He could guess the rest of it. He pulled the other man's head down and cradled it on his shoulder, kissing the dark curls. "There's nothing wrong with that, Nate. I'm glad you can't. I'm glad that you're still a good man, an honest man."

Nathan shook his head and took a deep breath. "Blackpoole as good as killed Sam. He deserves to die. I should be able to kill him, Eliot. I should be strong enough for this."

Eliot sighed and started rubbing circles on Nathan's back, trying to ease away the tension. "No you shouldn't. It's not a failing not to be able to take a life, Nate."

_You could have_. It hung in the air between them, unsaid. Nathan bit down on his lip to keep from letting it spill out. He knew that Eliot wouldn't react well to having it thrown in his face. He pulled away and cleared his throat. He had to quit this and get a drink. He needed to get away from the tension spilling into his gut. He grasped the first thing he could think of. "So, you heard from my wife lately?"

Eliot stopped rubbing Nate's back but didn't move away. He sighed and rubbed at his jaw. He recognized a diversionary tactic when he saw one, but decided to let Nathan have it. Just because he was using it as a means to end the conversation didn't mean that it wasn't painful. He knew that seeing Maggie again, with him of all people, had been like rubbing salt into an open wound. "Nate, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm sorry. I had no idea that Maggie was your ex wife."

Nathan stood from the bed and walked out of the room. Eliot sighed and followed him. He knew he hadn't gotten the whole story from Nate, but for now, it was enough that he'd come clean about Blackpoole. He'd just have to keep a very close eye on him for a while. He watched as Nathan grabbed another bottle out of the kitchen and poured himself a couple fingers. Eliot shook his head and found the old tattered phone book. If Nate was going to be drinking then Eliot needed to get some food into his stomach.

Nathan took a drink of the liquor, his eyes closing as it burned a path down his throat and stilled the desperate need pounding out a tattoo inside him. He opened his eyes and took another sip, feeling the alcohol blaze across his muscles, relaxing him enough so he could take a deep breath. He frowned as he noticed Eliot looking through the yellow pages, fear spiking his gut again. "Who are you calling?"

Eliot stopped at a page and looked at the listings, frowning. "I'm looking for a place that might have some soup and will deliver. You need to eat something and I don't think you're going to be up to eating pizza."

Nathan shrugged but didn't argue. By this time he knew it was a moot point. He'd actually had Eliot threaten to force feed him in the past, and Eliot didn't threaten stuff he wasn't fully prepared to act on. He took another drink, looking for a safer topic, anything that might make him feel less vulnerable. "What's your plan now?"

Eliot glanced up from the phone book, scowling. "I suppose that depends on you."

"Really, how? Planning to call up Maggie? Maybe get together, have some dinner?"

Eliot found a place that should take care of his needs and put his finger on the ad while he glared up at Nathan. "For the last time, Nate, just because I flirt doesn't mean I have any real interest. I've got you. I don't need your ex-wife."

Nathan looked away and took another sip of his whiskey, gut still churning with pent up emotion. He wasn't sure if it was jealousy for Maggie or for Eliot. Or maybe it was just that he didn't want the two of them talking behind his back.

Eliot watched as emotions chased across Nathan's face and shook his head. How Nathan could doubt his love for him after all this was beyond him. He sighed and shook his head. "I know you said you couldn't do it, but are you still thinking about killing Blackpoole?"

Nate felt the smirk fall from his face. "Every damn day."

Eliot nodded and dug his cell phone out of the pockets of his Levis, tried not to let on how that made his veins ice over. "Then I'm going to be sticking around here for the next couple of weeks at least. After that . . ." He grinned and shrugged while he dialed the number of a local bistro.

* * *

Eliot frowned as he stepped into the living room and saw Nathan sitting on the floor, papers spread around him. He watched as the other man brought the glass up to his lips and closed his eyes briefly as the alcohol slid down his throat. Glancing down at his tie and white oxford, he'd left the blazer with the museum logo on it in his truck, he came on into the room and stopped in front of Nathan. "This is seriously creepy, man. And it ain't healthy. What are you trying to accomplish here?"

Nathan glanced down at his drink and the blinked blearily up at Eliot. "We've been over this. I'm not quitting."

Eliot shook his head and jerked the hair elastic out of his hair, rubbing his finger where it snapped him when it broke. "I'm talking about this obsession of yours." He gestured at the pile of papers everywhere. "You've got to stop this; you're going to drive yourself crazy."

Nathan looked at the papers surrounding him and shrugged. "I've got nothing better to do." He blinked up at Eliot and then checked the time. "I didn't realize it was time for you to be home."

Eliot shook his head and walked into the bedroom. Nathan stood and followed, whiskey sloshing over the side of his glass. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb and taking a sip from the glass. He wasn't the only one keeping secrets. "You going to tell me where you've been disappearing to this last week?"

Eliot sat down on the bed and took off his dress shoes. It'd been a couple weeks since he'd come home to find Nathan passed out in the chair with the gun. Since then, Nathan had gotten some better. He'd put on a little of the weight he'd lost and the desire to kill Blackpoole wasn't eating at him quite so ferociously. Eliot felt safe enough in leaving him alone. But Nate was still obsessed with the gallery opening, immersing himself in newspaper clippings and schematics of the museum. "I told you, I'm working a job. It'll be over in a few days and we can move on."

Nathan sucked on the inside of his cheek and studied the outfit that Eliot had on. He wore the same thing every day, left and came home at the same time. If he didn't know better he would think that Eliot had an honest to God nine to five job. It had to be a set up for something. He felt worry twist his stomach. It had to be something bad. Why else would Eliot refuse to tell him what he was working on?

He licked his bottom lip and took another sip. "What kind of job is it?"

Eliot stripped his shirt off and tossed it on the bed before undoing his pants. He sighed. He should've known that Nathan wouldn't quit prodding until he found out. But he didn't want Nathan to know. He didn't want him anywhere near Blackpoole. He may have been doing better but there was no sense in tempting him. "I'm working security for a friend of mine."

Nathan nodded his head, rubbing at his chin. "What does your friend do?"

Eliot finished undressing and started toward the bathroom. "He's in antiquities."

Nathan watched as Eliot closed the bathroom door and waited until he heard the water start up. Once he was sure that Eliot would be in the shower, he scooped up his discarded clothes and went through them, looking for some hint of what Eliot was up to. When he came up empty on the clothes he opened the drawer of the nightstand and dug around until he found Eliot's wallet.

Inside he found a fake ID, some credit cards, and a badge. Nathan sat down on the bed and ran his finger over the glossy surface. Eliot was working security all right. He'd been hired on as extra detail for the Blackpoole gallery.

Nathan bit his lip and tried to breathe through the sudden pain in his chest. He felt a surge of emotion, both anger and something he didn't know quite how to name. He knew that Eliot cared for him, knew that he was loved. There was no other reason that Eliot would put up with his crap. But this was dangerous. Blackpoole, Sterling, Maggie, and who knew who else, could all identify Eliot. He was going into the lion's den without any backup. And he was doing it for Nathan.

Nathan put the wallet back where he'd found it and finished off his glass of whiskey. He coughed a little at the onslaught and kept his eyes closed. He wanted to barge into the bathroom and throttle Eliot for taking such a dangerous chance. But he couldn't. He couldn't be mad, not when he was the reason that Eliot was doing this.

He sat for a long time, eyes closed, as he tried to get his brain to work through the alcohol induced haze. Maybe . . . He finally opened his eyes and started taking off his shoes. All right. He was going to make sure that Eliot wasn't going to take the chance alone. He could turn this to his advantage. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the whole team didn't show up to case the place. It was stupid, but none of them would be able to leave it alone. He smiled wildly, heart beating hard in his chest as his mind started to formulate the basis for a plan. Oh yes, he could get Blackpoole, and he wouldn't have to kill him to do it.

Nathan couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up as he finished stripping. He felt downright giddy as the plan continued to unfold in his mind. This was much better than killing Blackpoole, this was inspired. They were going to do this his way. He'd make sure of it. He let himself into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Eliot sat in the bed, sheet pooled in his lap, and watched Nathan's back move with his breath. It was late, two-thirty in the morning, and the only light in the room was that coming through the blinds. He let his eyes trail over Nathan's head, his back, down where the sheet covered the roundness of his ass.

He didn't know what had gotten into Nathan earlier. He'd been the most animated he'd seen him in ages. He'd almost seemed like his old self. One minute he'd been his usual drunk, distracted, self, and then bam! He'd surprised Eliot in the shower. It was the first time they'd had sex since he'd gotten back from South Africa and they'd only made love sporadically before that. Depression was hell on your libido. So when Nathan had shown up in the shower, hell bent on seducing him, he hadn't thought twice about it. It was just so good to hold Nathan in his arms, to feel him hot and tight around him.

He reached over and ran a hand through Nathan's hair, down his neck to rest it on his back. Eliot felt his groin stir once again as he thought of the way Nathan had squirmed for him. Nathan mumbled something in his sleep and nuzzled his face into the side of Eliot's bare hip. He'd accepted a long time ago that he loved Nathan, but the strength of his emotions for this man still surprised him sometimes. It had been hard, but he clung hard to the belief that things would get better.

He lightly ran his hand through Nate's hair again, caressing his head as he did so. He didn't know what had gotten into the other man, but it was a welcome change. Maybe this was going to work after all. He had everything set up. Now all he had to do was put his plan in to action.

*The End*


End file.
